


be combative/be sweet

by nfwmb (earthshaker)



Series: i’ll stop the world [6]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Consensual Infidelity, Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Now featuring: the kids & the other gays!, Sexual Roleplay, ish...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22774483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthshaker/pseuds/nfwmb
Summary: “Is there a wife I should be worried about?” Minghao asks evenly. It’s not unheard of.DK turns in his arms, spreads his left hand over Minghao’s chest, the metal of his ring so cold it burns where it meets exposed skin, fills Minghao with both dizziness and shame that’s thrilling.“Husband,” DK corrects. There’s an amused sparkle in his eyes. “I think he wouldn't mind sharing with you, though.”
Relationships: Lee Seokmin | DK/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Series: i’ll stop the world [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532954
Comments: 39
Kudos: 226





	1. have your cake

**Author's Note:**

> #2ND_YEAR_OF_CLOWNERY let's get it! literally another birthday and another marriage fic.... i can't believe myself. happy birthday to the nation's handsomest musical actor <3 also brave the tags and just read the fic i promise there's no actual cheating i'm an air venus i would never condone infidelity. except as like, a consensual treat

I want you inside  
the mouth of my heart,  
inside the harp of my wrists,  
the sweet meat of the mango,  
in the gold that dangles  
from my ears and neck.

_**Dulzura** , Sandra Cisneros_

Minghao never imagined he’d find himself at a gay club on his own.

It’s jarring—there are parts of the club that are familiar, but not having his usual entourage of friends makes the sea of people dancing an impenetrable fortress and has Minghao feeling strangely like he’s being laid out bare. He’s dressed in the familiar armor of ripped jeans and a sheer shirt with far too many buttons undone—fueled by the need to feel desired amongst the young crowd—nursing a Negroni. He can get away with drinking tonight—hangovers have been a bitch since he turned 24—but there’s nothing laid out for the next few days. The drinks are still as strong as they were when he was in university, a marker of comfort amidst the mostly young, highly unrecognizable crowd. There is something in them that Minghao recognizes though; a hunger that runs through the earth’s core, a need for safety and solidarity that threads through them. 

Minghao’s careful scrutiny of the dance floor finally pays off when he spots a man a little ways from the edge of the dance floor; there’s a degree of self-assurance that translates into his posture, singles him out from the mass. Minghao follows the direction of his gaze to a dancing couple, and something about the way they’re dancing sends shivers down Minghao’s spine, instinctual recognition of the show they’re putting on, how it’s meant for each other even in a space like this one. It’s enough to have Minghao’s gut tight with desire that aches, consumes, has him gulping down his drink. When Minghao looks up from his glass, he meets the eyes of the man he singled out. 

The bright gleam of his teeth as he smiles at Minghao is unmistakable and Minghao shoots a cautious grin in return, setting his glass aside as the stranger approaches him. If he was striking from a distance, he’s _beautiful_ up close, all lean lines and high cheekbones, bright smile and expressive eyes, the kind of beauty that surpasses breathtaking and lands closer to otherworldly. Clothes in a club like this are their own language—Minghao recognizing the silky maroon shirt he’s wearing as something Minghao also owns, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, half tucked into leather pants—but the real conversation starter is the leather collar he’s wearing. It sits elegantly on his neck with an O-ring that has Minghao’s brain full of positions he could put the other man in. It wouldn’t be bold to assume he’s here for the same purpose as Minghao, to some extent, and if so, Minghao is very much willing to take him home.

“Hi,” the stranger greets, smiling. His voice is rich, slides down Minghao’s spine like honey and pools in his gut. “Enjoying the view?”

Minghao’s ears burn from the embarrassment of being caught ogling so blatantly, but he’s always been hard to ruffle and always appreciative of beauty. “If I say yes, what do I get?” 

“A name,” he offers.

Minghao takes it. “You’re gorgeous.”

His smile grows bigger, turns his expression so warm Minghao feels like the sun is shining on him. 

“You can call me DK.” There’s some passing familiarity at his face and nickname, but Minghao can’t quite put a finger on it. “What’s your name?”

“Seo M—Xu Minghao.”

“Well, Minghao,” he says, and Minghao tries to hide the rush that goes through him at the way he says Minghao’s name. 

Gentle, low, smooth like a lover’s over the intonation, adds to the aching puddle of honey in his gut. DK steps into Minghao’s personal space, between the spread of his legs and Minghao’s breath hitches, one hand automatically going to the ring threaded through a chain on his neck. DK’s eyes are drawn to the movement and when he meets Minghao’s eyes again there’s something in them that has Minghao sitting up straight. He feels like he’s passed an appraisal of sorts, one that’s flipped a switch in DK and turned him brazen, spreading slender fingers over the rips in Minghao’s jeans. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?” DK says, and it’s phrased less like a question, more like a demand. 

Minghao swallows around his tongue, wordlessly standing up and leading DK to the dance floor. He wants— _needs_ —DK so fiercely it’s manifested in a hyperawareness born from years of familiarity; Minghao’s torso is a perfect match for the line of DK’s back, DK leaning his head back onto Minghao’s shoulder, Minghao’s hips against DK’s. And if DK was brazen at the bar, he’s even more so on the dance floor, moving his hips against Minghao’s in a way that has him grinding against DK’s ass with intent, nosing along the line of DK’s neck. Desire tastes like blood in his mouth, iron will holding him back from biting down and marking DK up—this is a show led entirely by DK—even if DK shudders in his arms when Minghao brushes his lips over what looks like an old bruise. Or maybe it’s not; Minghao’s eyes flickering down to DK’s left hand when he wraps it around Minghao’s wrist, the coolness of metal unmistakeable when it’s the only jewelry that adorns his hands. 

“Is there a wife I should be worried about?” Minghao asks evenly. It’s not unheard of.

DK turns in his arms, spreads his left hand over Minghao’s chest, the metal of his ring so cold it burns where it meets exposed skin, fills Minghao with both a dizziness and shame that’s thrilling. “Husband,” DK corrects. There’s an amused sparkle in his eyes. “I think he wouldn't mind sharing with you, though.” 

“Yeah?” Minghao asks breathless. “He’s the sharing type?” 

“No,” DK says, eyes gleaming with something mischievous, something wicked. He curls his fingers through Minghao’s chain, toying with Minghao’s ring. “He hates it.”

They’re still dancing together, a slow grind timed to the bass that rips through them. DK’s pants make it obvious that he’s hard, and Minghao’s halfway there himself. Ethically, he _should_ back away—Minghao’s not quite ready to add homewrecker to his list of achievements—but there’s a greater desire at play. One that _needs_ DK, an all-consuming need, an animal need, transgresses propriety and has him grabbing DK’s hips, slowing their rhythm. 

“DK,” Minghao pants out, quieting when DK brushes his lips over Minghao’s, chaste.

“Seokmin,” DK says quietly. “My name is Seokmin.” 

“Seokmin,” Minghao sighs out against his mouth, Seokmin grinding his erection against Minghao’s thigh. Everything picks up in double time after that, or maybe it’s just the switch of music from slow and dirty to fast-paced and desperate, mirror of Minghao’s heartbeat, mirror of Seokmin tugging him towards the bathrooms. 

Minghao’s shoved unceremoniously into an empty stall and he’s _really_ beginning to feel like a university student again. If he looks carefully at the doodled graffitti he might just find his name alongside someone else’s in a lopsided heart. Here Minghao is, last shred of his dignity left outside the bathroom stall, possibly breaking someone else’s heart as he encourages Seokmin to encroach his personal space, spreads his legs to make room for Seokmin between them. There’s a moment of harsh panting between them, mouths so close they could be kissing, before Minghao closes the distance to meet Seokmin’s mouth. It’s filthy, or maybe it’s just the knowledge Minghao’s ruining a marriage that makes it feel that way.

Seokmin kisses eagerly, tastes like tangerine soju, smells like a fucking Chanel store, has Minghao simmering with the urge to taste his skin. Seokmin lets Minghao hold him by jaw, lets Minghao lick into his mouth, lets Minghao hear every sweet sound that drips from it. Objectively, it’s been minutes. Subjectively, Minghao feels like he’s lost a lifetime kissing Seokmin. Loses another when Seokmin starts kissing down his neck, over exposed skin and further down over silk. 

Drops to his knees between Minghao’s legs, face pressed to Minghao’s crotch as if Minghao pulled a leash tight, put him there. Seokmin meets his eyes as he mouths over Minghao’s erection, Minghao’s eyes fluttering shut at the diffused warmth, flying open when Seokmin whines only to find that he’s instinctively threaded a hand through Seokmin’s hair. Seokmin undoes his jeans, has them tugged down to his thighs quickly after that.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” Seokmin admits, voice low, mouth so, _so_ close to Minghao’s dick. 

“The blowjob part or..?” Minghao trails off. 

“The part where I give a blowjob to a man who isn’t my husband in a club,” Seokmin says, fingers dipping past the hem of Minghao’s briefs. 

“Yeah? Show me how your husband likes it,” Minghao croaks out.

Seokmin quirks an eyebrow at that, pushing Minghao’s briefs down and wrapping his lips around the head of his cock. He ends up throwing his head back against the door of the stall with a low thud; Seokmin is dizzyingly good at sucking dick. The kind of wet and slick, no gag reflex level of sucking dick. Lips tight around Minghao’s cock as he bobs his head along the length of it, fingers tight around Minghao’s thighs. The way Seokmin watches Minghao when he finally meets Seokmin’s eyes makes Minghao feel like he’s been planted in wet concrete, let it dry solid around him to experience this moment, rooted in desire. 

It was one thing goading Seokmin into sucking him off. It’s another thing realizing that if this is how Seokmin’s husband likes his blowjobs, it’s a way _gets_ to Minghao, cuts clean through the honey fog of desire, has Minghao feeling at the edge of his orgasm after minutes. Minghao accidentally fucks into his throat at the barest graze of teeth and Seokmin doesn’t pull away, swallows around Minghao’s cock while meeting his eyes. Seokmin’s eyes are glassy and dazed, looking at Minghao like he’s a balm, benediction, and Minghao feels filthy with how much he wants to keep Seokmin like that. On his knees, mouth so sweet on his cock. 

Seokmin pulls away with a gasp, lips red, saliva streaking his chin, Minghao reaching down to thumb at his lower lip, slips it past his lips and presses down on Seokmin’s tongue. Seokmin lets him, looks at Minghao with something close to adoration, absolute ardour, eyes bright and alive. 

“Do you wanna come on my face?” Seokmin asks. 

His voice has Minghao shivering; that’s him, _he_ did that, not Seokmin’s husband, not another man. “Yeah.”

Seokmin smiles at him, still so sweet. Wraps his lips around Minghao’s cock with twice the eagerness, coaxes the softest gasps out of Minghao’s mouth accompanied by variations of curses and Seokmin’s name. Coaxes his orgasm until Minghao feels like he could cry from how good Seokmin is around his dick, pulling away when Minghao grunts out a _close_ , jacking him off steadily. Seokmin has his lips parted, tongue out and Minghao has never wanted to mark a face so badly before. He’s never been able to keep his eyes open for this part, always fluttering shut the moment his orgasm hits him, lighter to lighter fluid, right at the base of his spine and blooming through him. 

Minghao’s ears burn even more when he glances down, flush spreading down his body; Seokmin has his thighs spread apart, still hard in his pants and grinding almost desperately against Minghao’s foot, strings of Minghao’s come dripping off his chin. It doesn’t matter that Minghao’s the one who came, Seokmin’s eyes on him are hazy, sated, has Minghao scrambling for his phone. There’s a shift in Seokmin’s expression when the camera is trained on him, angling himself more deliberately, performatively sultry with the way he looks up at Minghao, pouting, come on his face. Nothing about this is slow simmer, no, it’s Seokmin sinking desire like a dagger into him, twisting it in; Minghao wishing he still had the refractory period of his teenaged self. 

It’s also the tipping point for Minghao; he can’t keep up with the pretense anymore, pulling Seokmin up to his feet and licks his come off Seokmin’s jaw, pushing it into Seokmin’s mouth when they kiss. It’s surprisingly gentle, mouths moving together languidly, Seokmin tasting like Minghao.

“Fuck, xingan, you shouldn’t be so convincing,” Minghao huffs against the crook of Seokmin’s neck when they pull apart, Seokmin sighing, one hand fisting in Minghao’s hair. 

“Award winning actor, jagiya,” Seokmin reminds him with a sly grin, tipping his head back further. Minghao kisses down the length of it like a man starved, finally lets himself taste Seokmin, licks up the taste of sweat and baby powder and Minghao’s Chanel cologne; years together and Minghao still gorges himself on everything Seokmin offers him, insatiable, hunger like a blackhole. Licks along the soft leather of the collar, bites down on Seokmin’s collarbone and sucks a mark onto it, sucks harder when Seokmin whines his name. 

“Wanted to fuck you so bad when I saw you had my shirt on,” Minghao murmurs, planting soft kisses along Seokmin’s neck. “My cologne too. Wanted to take you right there in front of everyone when I saw your ring.”

Seokmin whines, grinding his hips absentmindedly against Minghao’s thigh, skin flushed. Minghao _wants_ to say fuck it, wants to fuck Seokmin against the door like they’re 19 again, needy and animalistic and selfish, selfish teenagers. But he also wants to take Seokmin apart, wants to take his time in a way they haven’t been able to since Seokmin’s last musical ended its run. 

“You can be good for me, can’t you baby? Going to wait till we get back home? Going to let me fuck you nice and slow?” Minghao murmurs against Seokmin’s skin, trailing kisses over his neck, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, hooking a finger into the ring of Seokmin’s collar and tipping his head up. Seokmin’s voice cracks on his assent, flushed from his hairline down to his chest. 

As they make their way out of the club, Minghao can’t help but be reminded of the fact that they’re somewhat public figures—or at least, Seokmin is very much a public figure, name attached with outspoken gay rights activist—which means Minghao was thrust into the spotlight the second his name was attached to Seokmin’s and here they are. Very public figures exiting a gay club, hair messed beyond what’s acceptable, Seokmin with a fucking BDSM collar around his neck. And the part of Minghao that’s ugly, that’s all dragon coiled up around his treasure is _sated_ , pleased when Seokmin smiles sweetly at him when he slides a hand into Seokmin’s back pocket, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“We should’ve taken the bus and really pretended like we’re back at university,” Seokmin murmurs in Mandarin when they slide into the backseat of the cab.

Minghao laughs, curling a hand over Seokmin’s thigh. He also recognizes the game Seokmin’s playing by switching languages where they can be overheard. Seokmin’s exhibitionistic tendencies have only grown since he realized what it does to Minghao.

“Yeah? Maybe I should’ve just fucked you in the club.” 

“Ooh Mr. Lee, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Seokmin says, trying and failing to hide the beginnings of his laughter. 

Minghao is the one who cracks, laughing hard enough the driver looks up at them through the rearview mirror, Minghao smiling apologetically. 

“Mr. Xu, you know I can do better than that,” Minghao protests.

“Then do better.” Seokmin’s smirking, and it rages through Minghao, reminds him of how Seokmin was just on his knees a while ago, Minghao’s come on his face with that same expression. 

Dirty talk is easy. Dirty talk in Mandarin is _easier_ ; Minghao spent all of high school murmuring in Mandarin to Seokmin, afraid to have his feelings laid bare, affection layered under every filthy promise he made Seokmin. Affection that he’s carried through the years when he slips into Mandarin, affection that Seokmin slowly but surely began picking up on since he started learning Mandarin. Minghao still remembers how seriously Seokmin took his Mandarin lessons even before their engagement, Seokmin’s insistence that Minghao’s parents shouldn’t have to accomodate for him and how he coos to their children in Mandarin sometimes. It’s heady, having someone love you like that; makes you feel like you could rule the world. So Minghao does better. Slides his palm across Seokmin’s thigh and along the inseam of his jeans, spreads his legs wider. 

“I want to eat you out, want to fuck you open with my tongue, want you begging before I fuck you.”

Seokmin shivers, tipping his head back. The soft leather of his collar reflects the streetlights. Minghao wants to curl his fingers into it and hold Seokmin down.

“I want to hold you down,” Minghao admits, low and honest. “Curl up around you, keep you there, keep you on my cock.” 

“I want to mark you up, come on your skin. I want everyone who was looking at you to know you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Seokmin manages, a hand intertwined with the one Minghao has on his leg, nails biting into Minghao’s skin from his grip. 

Minghao strokes his thumb over the band of Seokmin’s ring. If he couldn’t see, he’s confident in his ability to recognize Seokmin by his hands alone; the whorls of his fingertips, the raised line of a faded scar on the back of his left hand, cooking burns. This is their language too; one of bodies, consonants and vowels marked along limbs, one they are fluent in. It’s hard not to be when they watched each other broaden and lengthen and fill out, when they went from mismatched angles jabbing each other to the curvature of hip nestled against hip. This is a language sacred between them, one that no one else can read beyond he is mine and I am his. 

Seokmin thanks the driver profusely when they pull up outside their house, all but throwing himself out of the cab, complaining about the heat for the duration of time it takes for them to get from the cab to inside. Minghao swears loudly when he almost trips over an abandoned train carriage, Seokmin laughing. It almost feels like a regular night out, the kind they used to have before they became, in Junhui’s words, DILF’s. That is until Seokmin has him against their bedroom door, and Minghao replays the memory of Seokmin carrying him past the threshold of their honeymoon suite. How he’d fucked Minghao face to face, bodyweight enough to pin Minghao down and keep him there, Minghao’s name tumbling from Seokmin’s mouth with the same reverence as prayer. It’s enough to get blood rushing to his dick again, on top of Seokmin’s hands and mouth on Minghao’s skin, needy to the point where he’s just ineffective touches, substituting actual action with pure physical contact.

“Xingan,” Minghao coaxes, walking them backwards to the bed. 

Their hands work feverishly at each other’s clothes, Minghao almost tempted to rip the buttons on Seokmin’s shirt, even if what he’s wearing is technically Minghao’s. They somehow manage without destroying any clothes, Seokmin wiggling his briefs off before climbing onto the bed on his hands and knees, wiggling his ass. 

“ _Seokmin_ ,” his name rips out of Minghao’s chest in a low growl, staring at the smooth glass nestled in Seokmin’s ass. 

“Do you like it?” Seokmin asks over his shoulder, smile wide and dazed.

It makes more sense now as to why Seokmin had been so desperate and hard even before he dragged Minghao into the bathrooms; he could probably feel the plug up against his prostate the whole time. Minghao doesn’t know where to start—leans over Seokmin’s back and slips his fingers through the collar, pushes Seokmin down to his chest—Seokmin all lean lines cut from marble. The arch of his back, the pillars of his thighs, Minghao confessing to the sin of love at this altar since he was 16. 

“Insatiable,” Minghao murmurs instead, kissing down the line of Seokmin’s spine. “What are you going to do when my dick doesn’t work anymore?”

“Take out a subscription for Viagra—fuck, _Minghao_ ,” Seokmin groans out when Minghao pulls the plug out partially, keeps Seokmin stretched around the widest part of it, before fucking it in again and repeating the movement several times.

Seokmin keens when Minghao finally pulls it out, Minghao immediately replacing the toy with his tongue, Seokmin’s voice cracking on his name as Minghao drags his tongue over Seokmin’s rim. Fucks Seokmin with his tongue again and again, hands firm around Seokmin’s hips to keep him from riding Minghao’s face, soaks up every sound that drips from Seokmin’s mouth. There’s a part of him that’s thankful they sent the kids away, because as much as Yiren and Renjun sleep like the dead, Seokmin gets the loudest when Minghao has him like this, spread open and speared on his tongue.

“Minghao, please, I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready,” Seokmin chants. Minghao is too, but Seokmin had his fun, and now it’s Minghao’s turn. 

He pulls away from Seokmin’s ass, bites down on the skin of his left thigh and soothes with his tongue, reaches over Seokmin for the lube on their bedside table. Minghao’s distracted for a moment—trying to figure out when Seokmin had time to finger himself and fit a plug—squeezing lube onto his skin. It’s easy enough to push two fingers into Seokmin and scissor them, intentionally brushing shy of Seokmin’s prostate as Minghao fucks him open, still tight around his fingers despite the plug. There’s too much lube, messy on Seokmin’s skin and squelching loudly, Minghao’s cock hard and leaking again at the way Seokmin’s openly pleading. He adds more lube and another finger, hooks them against Seokmin’s prostate, Seokmin whining and rolling his hips, trying to fuck back against Minghao’s hand. 

“Jagiya,” Seokmin says, almost a sob. Continues in Mandarin. “Want you to fuck me like you said you would. Fuck me better than my husband can.” 

“I _am_ your husband,” Minghao mumbles back. 

“Then fuck me.”

It’s enough to make Minghao feel like he’s had all the cards flipped on him, scrambling to take off his underwear before running reverent hands up Seokmin’s back, ghosting along the collar on his neck. Seokmin makes a soft sound that has Minghao moving into motion, done with teasing him. 

Minghao fucks in slow, inch by inch, biting down on his lower lip. It’s only been two weeks since they had time for anything that wasn’t a rushed blowjob or handjob, but it feels like it’s been longer, and maybe it has. Between Minghao’s work and Seokmin’s work and raising children, the time they spend with each other feels stolen. So what they do have is special, a treat. Under him, Seokmin’s all gasps, face pressed into the pillows, mouth open. 

“Okay?” Minghao asks, runs a gentle hand up Seokmin’s spine, hips flush with Seokmin’s ass. 

“If you don’t start fucking me, I’m going back to the club and going home with the first man I see,” Seokmin threatens. 

It has Minghao seeing red for a moment, dragon provoked, starts fucking into Seokmin harshly, nails digging into his soft skin, leaving behind red lines. He’s left a lot of marks on Seokmin tonight; part of it is the fact that Seokmin’s new musical starts in two weeks and Minghao won’t have the luxury of marking him anymore, but the bigger part is a desperate need to lay claim, to say Seokmin is his, that he was here first, will always be here. Seokmin whines his name, grinds back against Minghao’s thrusts, knuckles white where they’re fisted in the sheets. 

“When I was waiting for you,” Seokmin pants out, Minghao grunting out an acknowledgment. “There was a guy who recognized me. Wanted to buy me a drink. I could tell he wanted to take me home, too.”

“You wouldn’t have gone with him,” Minghao manages. 

“Yeah? You don’t think I’d go home with some young man who has a poster of me up?” Seokmin teases.

Minghao _knows_ he’s being baited—it’s terrifying how good Seokmin is at that—and he bites anyway, fucks into Seokmin a touch harder, brings a hand down on Seokmin’s thigh with a sharp sound. Seokmin whines and Minghao bends over him, mouths at the knobs of his spine. 

“Mine,” he gasps out. “I’ve got all you.” 

“You do, you do, jagiya,” Seokmin pants out, voice raw with a need that sets Minghao’s nerves on fire. “Need to see you, please. Want to see my husband.”

 _Husband_ drips out of Seokmin’s mouth like it’s own curse word. Minghao doesn’t hesitate to pull out, both of them a flurry of movement, fucking back into Seokmin’s ass when Minghao has him on his back, Seokmin’s thighs tight around his hips. He teases Seokmin for being insatiable but Minghao’s the same; more than a decade of being together and he still wants Seokmin _all the time_ , still feels greedy for more despite having given themselves to each other in every way. 

“Minghao,” Seokmin whispers, one hand in Minghao’s hair, the other cool against the back of his neck. Minghao can feel his ring, buries his face in the crook of Seokmin’s shoulder and grinds into him. 

It’s easy to translate the sentence Seokmin’s body is speaking right now—thighs tense and shaking, cock wet and hard between their stomachs, head thrown back, eyes shut—Minghao knows Seokmin can come untouched, _will_ come untouched. Seokmin doesn’t even need to verbalize the _close_ caught in the back of his throat after he whispers Minghao’s name, Minghao bending closer to kiss Seokmin, panting wetly against his mouth. Kisses down his jaw, his neck, hooking two fingers into the ring of the collar and pulling it tight before biting down on the junction of Seokmin’s neck and shoulder over an already fading bruise, Seokmin coming with a shout of Minghao’s name and a shudder. 

Minghao fucks into Seokmin once, twice before coming, tipped over by Seokmin’s ass all but milking his cock, Seokmin curling his fingers in Minghao’s hair and hauling him even closer if possible. They stay like that, Minghao losing all senses of urgency, grinding out their orgasms languidly until Seokmin whines, tears tracking down his face. He kisses them away, pulls out gently, stares at the mess on Seokmin’s stomach and then lower, between Seokmin’s thighs. Seokmin doesn’t miss the way Minghao is staring intently at his ass, come making the insides of his thighs slick and wet. 

“No,” he grumbles, shoving Minghao’s shoulder. “I don’t have another one in me.”

Minghao pouts, Seokmin laughing. He tugs Minghao in for a kiss that feels like consolation and homecoming, runs his tongue along the back of Minghao’s teeth, breaking away with a gentle smile. Seokmin’s hands make a move for the collar and Minghao bats them away, swallowing before undoing it gently, setting it aside and kissing the red skin of Seokmin’s neck. 

“It’s your turn to change the sheets,” Seokmin says cheerily, grinning at Minghao’s dumbfounded expression. 

“Why do I have to do it?” Minghao grumbles halfheartedly, leaning over to grab the wet wipes from his nightstand, wiping himself down perfunctorily.

“It’s your come I’m dripping on the sheets,” Seokmin singsongs, grabbing the plug where it’s laying on the sheets and making his way to the bathroom, an effective way to end negotiations.

Minghao wriggles into his discarded boxers, padding out to the hall closet where they keep their linens, changing the sheets. He considers making the bed, but figures it’s pointless if Seokmin and him are going to be climbing in anyway, leaving the covers at the foot of the bed. Seokmin’s singing in the shower when Minghao steps into the bathroom, hesitating at the threshold. He can’t bear being away from Seokmin right now—there’s a part of him leftover from the club that still thinks Minghao has one night and one night only to take all of Seokmin in—which is silly. Everywhere he looks in this house is a reminder of a life they built together, right down to the marble of their bathroom countertop and their light fixtures. 

“Join me?” Seokmin asks, pausing in the motions of shampooing his hair. 

Minghao hesitates—they’re notoriously bad at sharing showers—Seokmin likes them _scalding_ and Minghao likes them just-in-between; they’d arguably get into bed faster if he uses their guest bathroom. Marriage, however, is stepping into their remodeled shower with Seokmin, reaching over his shoulder to grab Seokmin’s loofah and the soap, dutifully scrubbing Seokmin’s back while Seokmin turns the heater from scalding to less so, subtly trying and failing to tug Minghao under the spray. In return, Seokmin gets Minghao’s hair wet and starts shampooing it, hands gentle as he tugs through Minghao’s curls, complaining about being cold until Minghao switches to the rainfall showerhead and bumps the heat up the slightest. Seokmin goes through reminders for tomorrow—they need to pick up the food from the catering ahjumma before lunch, Junhui is supposed to pick up cupcakes, they _cannot_ leave the car seats in Mingyu’s car again because the kids have a doctor’s appointment on Monday—Minghao listening attentively with a fond smile the whole time. It takes them twice as long as it should to get clean and dry and into bed, but Minghao’s not complaining.

“If we leave right now,” Seokmin begins, sleep tugging at his syllables. “We can pick up the kids and be home within the hour.”

Minghao laughs, carding his hands through Seokmin’s hair, Seokmin’s pleased hums rumbling through the frame of Minghao’s body.

“The bed does feel empty without them, huh?”

And it does. While Yiren and Renjun have their own rooms from the moment Minghao and Seokmin brought them back from the adoption agency, it took two days of Seokmin anxiously pacing their room while watching the baby monitor for the both of them to crack and reassemble the cribs in their room. Even then, they slept, and _still_ sleep between Minghao and Seokmin most of the time. Co-sleeping wasn’t what they had in mind when they upgraded from a queen to a king, but he can’t say it hasn’t worked out for them.

Sometimes, he’s still caught unawares by the life he leads now, drastically different from the one he had in a tiny apartment in Mapo-gu, but still painfully familiar, rooted in his love for the man in bed next to him. They’re married now, have children now, have a living room big enough to seat all their university friends and then some without anyone sitting on the floor now. And yet, sometimes, Minghao feels like he’s living in a stranger’s shoes. Like he’s still 15 and slowly figuring out that the overwhelming desire to impress Seokmin stemmed from more than wanting to be his friend, figuring out that he likes men, thrown for a loop.

“Come back to me,” Seokmin cajoles, propping his chin on Minghao’s head, meets his eyes.

“Some days it feels like all of this is a dream,” Minghao’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I feel like I’m going to wake up, and you’re not going to be here with me.”

“Now I’m thinking we _really_ need to pick up Yiren and Renjun from Mingyu’s,” Seokmin jokes, smile turning into something immensely softer, something Minghao had to work to gain. “I’m here with you for life, jagiya. I didn’t know it in high school, maybe, but I know it _now._ Have, for ten years. Maybe more.” 

“Remember my wedding speech? I told you I’d fight for the privilege of being loved by you in every lifetime.”

Minghao’s eyes burn with the urge to cry suddenly, squeezing them shut and startled into opening them again when Seokmin plants the softest kiss on his cheek.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to pick the kids up and then we’re going to come home and watch our wedding video. And after that, we’re going to put them to sleep in their own rooms for once, and leave the baby monitor on and _I_ am going to fuck the melodrama out of _you_ , honestly, I’m the one who is supposed to be the actor here.”

Minghao laughs wetly at that, turning on his side so he’s face to face with Seokmin, prods teasingly at Seokmin’s ribs and grinning as he squirms. “That sounds amazing, but we invited all our friends over to celebrate our anniversary.”

“I’ll just get really drunk so no one will care when I stick my hand down your pants then!” Seokmin declares.

Minghao buries his face in the crook of Seokmin’s neck, inhaling the smell of their shared body wash, the faintest trace of Minghao’s perfume. For as much as Seokmin believes that he wants too much, _is_ too much, it’s a trait they both share. Both of them greedy for an all-consuming love, an unfaltering devotion, one that hasn’t diminished in the slightest since their life went from Seokmin’s cramped childhood bedroom to a 2 bd-1 ba in Mapo to a 5 bd-3 ba in Gangnam, carefully transplanted into every home they’ve occupied and growing into the space. 

“I think I love you,” Minghao says against Seokmin’s skin. Seokmin answers with a kiss.

“Happy anniversary, jagiya,” Seokmin murmurs.

Minghao is simultaneously 16, bowled over by the realization that he would carve his heart out to make space for Seokmin in his ribcage and 30, organs compressed in his ribcage to make room for Seokmin and their children.

Minghao is right where he’s supposed to be.

  
  



	2. and eat it too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A toast,” Junhui proposes. “To Xu Minghao and Lee Seokmin, highschool sweethearts!” 
> 
> There’s a round of cheers and Minghao flushes, Seokmin warm and solid next to him. 
> 
> “To Xu Minghao,” Seokmin murmurs in his ear when no one is paying attention to them. “My perfect trophy househusband.” 
> 
> Minghao’s stomach swoops, flushing even darker even as he pinches the inside of Seokmin’s thigh.

Say my name. Say it.

The way it’s supposed to be said.

I want to know that I knew you

even before I knew you.

_— **Dulzura** , Sandra Cisneros_

Seokmin’s side of the bed is empty, and more importantly, _cold_ when Minghao stirs awake. It’s a rare occurrence, Minghao rolling over into his spot and inhaling the scent of Seokmin’s cologne, the faintest note under their laundry detergent. It’s rare that Minghao gets to sleep in, especially during the peak of Seokmin’s musical season and he luxuriates in the feeling, consciousness trickling in. The moment is interrupted by Seokmin walking into the room, arguing with whoever is on the other end of the phone. 

Hearing Seokmin’s voice low, annoyed, on the edge of aggressive, kicks Minghao fully into consciousness, ever present desire for Seokmin turned from simmer to boil. They haven’t had time for anything more than rushed quickies lately and last night woke something Minghao believed died in March as table readings picked up for Seokmin. Seokmin’s tank top is tight around his chest, Minghao’s mouth dry as he admires the flex of Seokmin’s biceps, ready to cancel their party and tug Seokmin into bed, hold him to his promises. Minghao would willingly do the laundry again, too. Seokmin catches him staring, mouths _good morning_ , smiling gently and Minghao’s ears burn, Seokmin probably unaware of the thoughts running through Minghao’s head. Minghao sits up, swings his legs out of the bed, listening to Seokmin. Seokmin comes to stand between Minghao’s legs, carding his fingers through Minghao’s hair, Minghao pushing his head into Seokmin’s touch and his cheek against Seokmin’s stomach. 

“Who had you annoyed?” Minghao asks when Seokmin ends the call.

Seokmin grimaces. “A producer, but it’s nothing to worry about. Also, Jun and Wonwoo-hyung texted, they’ll be here soon to help us set up.”

Minghao reaches out like a plant to the sun, Seokmin giggling when he drags his hands under Seokmin’s shirt and pushes it out of the way, kissing the skin above the waistband of Seokmin’s jeans. “Jagiya, we don’t have time for that unless you want Jun walking in on us again.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Minghao mutters darkly. Seokmin laughs, ducks down to kiss Minghao’s pout, licking past his lips despite the fact that Minghao definitely has morning breath. Seokmin pulls away, plants another chaste kiss for good measure. 

“Can you set up? I’ll go pick up the catering, and some flowers too. What do you think about balloons?”

“Anything you want,” Minghao mumbles against Seokmin’s abdomen, nipping hungrily against skin. Seokmin’s hands go tight in his hair for a second, Minghao’s eyes trained on the subtle flex of his arms, holding Minghao in place, Minghao’s gut taunt with anticipation. With eagerness for Seokmin to use him however he wants. With _need_ for Seokmin to hold him in place and fuck his throat, or fuck him. 

“Get ready before they get here,” Seokmin chides, voice dripping authority, Minghao repressing the urge to shiver. 

“Love it when you use the dad voice on me,” Minghao jokes. It lands on _wanting_ , embarrassingly so, Minghao’s ears burning.

Seokmin flicks the tip of his ear, tips Minghao’s chin up. There’s a look in his eyes, there and gone within seconds, that Minghao can’t quite decipher, Seokmin ducking to kiss him slow and purposeful, fingers on his jaw holding Minghao in place. Minghao huffs out a noise when Seokmin finally pulls away, breathlessly wanting, loud in their quiet room. The same expression crosses Seokmin’s face again before it’s wiped away with a bright grin and another kiss to the top of Minghao’s head. He steps out of Minghao’s reach with another ruffle of his hair, shrugging on a plaid shirt over his tank top.

“I’ll be home soon.” 

It’s a shame, really, that the one morning Minghao wouldn’t mind being plastered against his husband in the shower is also the same morning he’s out of the house early and running errands. 

Minghao is surprised by how clean their living room is when he finally heads downstairs; the children’s toys have been put aside in their corner, their deck already partially set up for entertaining, the counters wiped down. The kettle—a bright yellow thing they picked up at a vintage store—is still steaming on the stove, Minghao’s mug and morning tea set next to it. It makes something squeeze tight in Minghao’s chest, the realization Seokmin probably woke up earlier to do all of this and it’s _nice._ It’s a gesture Minghao appreciates, because Seokmin is synonymous with messy—Minghao still finds orange peels all over the house, including in their laundry room _—_ but this is nice too, when Seokmin has time to do little things for Minghao. Their doorbell rings before Minghao can get the chairs out of the storeroom, unsurprised to find Junhui and Wonwoo at the door when he answers it.

“How did the sexcapade go? Not well enough if you ask me, seeing as this party wasn’t cancelled,” Junhui says, handing off the box of cupcakes he’s carrying to Minghao. 

“Yes, because it’s admirable behaviour to make your boyfriend cancel class,” Minghao says dryly.

“That’s uncalled for,” Wonwoo protests. “It was one time!” 

Junhui cackles and even Minghao cracks a smile at Wonwoo’s petulant tone, putting away the cupcakes. “That, my friend, is called big dick energy.” 

Minghao throws a dish towel in Junhui’s direction, groaning. “Please be useful and get the chairs out of the storeroom.”

Junhui grins, connecting his phone to their speakers and proceeding to blast a curated playlist of girl group hits Minghao is too familiar with before bossing Wonwoo into helping him. Minghao gets to work after his cup of tea, pulling out their toddler proof partyware from the cupboards and laying them out. 

“Should I bring the liquor out?” Minghao asks Wonwoo, Wonwoo pursing his lips. 

“I don’t know, do you want Seokmin to stick his hands down your pants in broad daylight?” Wonwoo teases.

“I heard that!” Seokmin yells from somewhere inside the house, Minghao snorting inelegantly. 

“South Korea’s most beloved DILF has joined us!” Junhui declares, heading inside.

Minghao finds Seokmin struggling with at least four _massive_ bouquets of flowers, sighing as he picks two out of his arms, Seokmin grinning at him in a way that has Minghao softening. 

“Oh hyung, could you grab the food from the car?” Seokmin asks Wonwoo, Junhui following Wonwoo to help. 

Seokmin waits until they’re gone and Minghao’s setting down the bouquets on the counter in search of vases to plaster himself against Minghao’s back, lips soft on the nape of Minghao’s neck. 

“Happy anniversary,” Seokmin murmurs, voice a low rumble. He smells familiar, a scent that has Minghao relaxed and full of longing, and the source is clear when Seokmin turns him around to press another bouquet in his hands, this one of nasturtium and orange blossoms, Minghao’s throat thick with emotion. 

“Those are going in the bedroom,” Minghao says. 

“As they do every year,” Seokmin agrees, eyes turned into crescents from his smile. 

Minghao sets the bouquet aside, thumbs the crow’s feet spreading out from the corners of Seokmin’s eyes, fine lines and the realization this is the rest of their life. Seokmin leans in for a kiss and it’s far from gentle, sucking Minghao’s bottom lip into his mouth, pinning Minghao against the counter with his body weight. 

“Really?” Wonwoo deadpans, Junhui wolf-whistling. “You better be paying us for the labor.” 

Seokmin pulls away with a laugh, leaves Minghao a little stunned, blinking frantically to clear his head. Except he goes dizzy again when Seokmin peels his shirt off, arms bare and it makes sense, it’s _hot_ and Seokmin gets sweaty easily but Minghao’s weak. Likes having his hands on his husband, likes when his touches linger, likes the way Seokmin looks at him during and after. Seokmin heads off to grab more food from the car, Junhui giving Minghao an empathetic look and patting his arm once he’s set down the buffet pans on the dining table. 

“You should’ve cancelled the party,” Junhui says in a theatrical whisper, Wonwoo poking around the food.

“Shut up,” Minghao hisses, finally shaking himself out of whatever spell Seokmin put on him and picking out vases. “He can have all the anniversary parties he wants.” 

Minghao immerses himself in the process of cutting the stems of the flowers to fit the respective vases, ending up with two vases of roses and another of sunflowers on top of Seokmin’s nasturtiums and orange blossoms. Junhui and Wonwoo help Seokmin set up the buffet line on their dining table, Seokmin setting out their punch bowl and alcohol on the counter, far out of the reach of the kids. 

“Which one?” Seokmin hip checks Minghao, holding onto two bottles of wine. “I have a riesling and a rose.” 

Minghao makes a face that Seokmin snorts at. “We’re out of red?”

“A party in the Lee-Xu household without red wine? Who am I, your mistress? There’s a syrah already in the fridge.”

Minghao chuckles. Being in love with Seokmin is _so_ easy. “Fair enough. Riesling?”

“Okay, lăo gōng,” Seokmin says brightly, brushing past Minghao with a quick kiss to the shell of his ear and sticking the bottle in the fridge. Minghao can't quite hide his smile despite Junhui’s snickering. It’s not like he’s developed an immunity to the way Seokmin croons _jagiya_ —it’s comfortable, years and years of love and familiarity cocooning Minghao—but _lăo gōng_ is a pleasant surprise every time, like coming home and finding Seokmin in the yard with the children instead of at a table reading. 

Proprietary too; Minghao is Seokmin’s husband as much as Seokmin is his, no mistaking the way Seokmin says it with intent. 

“Xīngān, can you arrange the flowers? I’ll take these upstairs when I’m done with the cupcakes, and you can go get changed first?” Minghao says, fishing out the cake stand. 

Seokmin murmurs an assent, placing the vases across their living room as Minghao works on the cupcakes. He almost drops one in surprise when Seokmin sneaks up behind him, grabbing a handful of Minghao’s ass, body a hard line of warmth and muscle behind him, Minghao reaching behind to pinch Seokmin’s thigh. 

“I could’ve dropped a cupcake.”

“And you didn’t!” Seokmin exclaims, kissing the nape of Minghao’s neck and not missing up on the chance to palm his ass again, Minghao huffing under his breath. 

Seokmin is proving to be nothing but a distraction today, and while his husband has always reciprocated to physical affection like a parched man to water, it’s usually Minghao initiating. Intertwined fingers, an arm around a shoulder, a palm against the inside of Seokmin’s thigh, a leg hooked over Seokmin’s, ankles crossed against each other under the table. Seokmin initiating throws Minghao off in a way that settles under his skin, dull itch, dry mouth, sweaty palms. Has Minghao wanting and then some more, even when Seokmin leaves him to arrange cupcakes in relative peace, Junhui and Wonwoo’s conversation soothing noise in the background. 

“Keep an eye out for the rest?” Minghao asks when he’s done, Junhui saluting. 

He carries the vase of flowers up with him carefully, setting them on his bedside table, running a gentle thumb over one of the petals. Minghao can hear the noise of the sink running and Seokmin humming from their bathroom as he peruses their walk-in, shaking his head fondly when he spots Seokmin’s clothes abandoned in front of their bathroom door instead of in their hamper. It’s a shame it’s too hot for silk, Minghao changing into a linen shirt when Seokmin finally steps out of the bathroom.

Desire, immediate and heady, rolls through Minghao with one glance at Seokmin, settling in the pit of his stomach like a stone. It’s been there the whole morning but now that he has Seokmin for one private moment, it’s overwhelming, as palpable as the humidity cocooning them. The expression on Minghao’s face must say as much if Seokmin takes one look at him and grins, walking Minghao backwards into one of their dressers, Minghao’s hands immediately going for his hips, sliding his palms into Seokmin’s back pockets. 

“Like what you see?” Seokmin murmurs, voice pitched low, Minghao feeling like his head is full of cobwebs recalling how Seokmin sounded exactly the same on his knees last night. 

_Like_ isn’t enough to describe the sight of Seokmin in a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a thin chain around his neck, contacts swapped out for his glasses. 

Minghao answers by tugging him in for a kiss, mouth dropping open in a moan when Seokmin’s thigh presses between his legs, Minghao conditioned to spread them wider for Seokmin, hands rucking up Seokmin’s shirt. Seokmin pulls away with a wry grin, kissing along Minghao’s jaw and down his neck, tugging the hem of Minghao’s shirt down and biting down on his collarbone, sucking a mark, Minghao’s skin feeling hot and tight when Seokmin finally pulls away, kissing Minghao again, gentler this time.

“How long do you think we have?” Minghao asks.

Seokmin blinks, surprised. “Twenty before people start showing up?” 

“I can work with twenty,” Minghao mumbles, dropping to his knees and working on Seokmin’s jeans. 

“Oh,” Seokmin breathes out, smile too wide and palm too gentle against Minghao’s scalp. 

“Be useful,” Minghao grates, tugging Seokmin’s jeans and briefs down to his thighs. 

“No,” Seokmin hums. “I’m going to watch you act like a desperate whore.” 

Minghao feels like he’s been sucker punched, desire radiating from his sternum and out, sore and tender and _wanting_ with it, mouthing at the head of Seokmin’s cock eagerly, watching Seokmin’s eyes flutter shut, moaning when his hand in Minghao’s hair goes tight. _This_ is the part of Minghao that only Seokmin gets to see, behind closed doors, dragon with its belly exposed; Seokmin tugs and Minghao follows, parts his lips wider to sink lower on Seokmin’s cock. Seokmin groans, a low rumbling sound, guiding Minghao’s mouth further down his cock until Minghao’s lips meet skin and trimmed hair, Minghao inhaling through his nose, Seokmin _keeping_ him there with his grip, exactly what Minghao was hungering after the whole morning. 

“ _Fuck_ , jagiya,” Seokmin groans when he finally tugs Minghao’s mouth back, hips rocking in shallow thrusts into Minghao’s mouth. 

The heaviness of Seokmin’s hand in Minghao’s hair sends a thrill through him, cohesive thought dissolving with Seokmin’s languid thrusts, Seokmin using his mouth to get off, everything Minghao doesn’t know how to ask for. It’s enough to be like this for Seokmin, tamping down his gag reflex every time Seokmin pushes in too deep, mind fuzzy with the taste of Seokmin’s cock on his tongue. Maybe he _is_ desperate, if he’s letting Seokmin use him like this.

“So good for me, Minghao,” Seokmin murmurs. “So pretty on your knees.” Minghao’s eyes flutter shut at the praise, affected because it’s coming from _Seokmin._

“Can I come on your face?” Seokmin pants out, fucking deeper into Minghao’s mouth. 

Minghao waits until Seokmin pulls out to hum an assent, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parted and tongue out. Like this, Minghao can see Seokmin’s strong jaw, hear his groans as he jacks himself off, thinks Oscar Wilde knew what he was saying when he said love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling. 

His knees _ache_ , but his husband is beautiful, even more so when Seokmin meets Minghao’s eyes and whines, coming across Minghao’s face, eyes fixed on Minghao. It only takes a moment before Seokmin drops to his knees as well, licking come Minghao failed to catch in his mouth off Minghao’s face like an eager puppy, predictably kissing Minghao and pushing his come into Minghao’s mouth. 

“Holy fuck,” Seokmin exhales. “Everyone’s gonna know what we did, you look fucked out.” 

It’s enough to snap Minghao out of the headspace, pinching Seokmin’s thigh, standing up with Seokmin’s help.

“Shut up,” Minghao grumbles, throat raw and knees twinging.

Seokmin kisses him again when he’s in reach, hands reaching for Minghao’s belt buckle and pulling away with a pout when Minghao slaps them away.

“If you touch me, we’re not going to leave this room for the rest of the day, party or not.”

Seokmin’s lip juts out even further, following Minghao into the bathroom, plastering himself against Minghao’s back as Minghao washes his face. He takes quick inventory: his shirt needs to be changed and he could use some mouthwash too. 

“Was I too rough?” Seokmin’s smiling in the mirror’s reflection but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, worry a palpable aura. 

“I liked it.”

Seokmin’s smile is gentle as he nods, nosing at Minghao’s neck, arms wrapped around Minghao’s waist. He can’t tamp it down no matter how hard he tries, this desire for Seokmin, underbrush still smoldering, all too ready, all too willing to catch flame again. They pull away with a groan when the doorbell rings through the house, spurred into efficiency at the prospect of entertaining their friends.

“How do I look?” Minghao asks breathlessly, Seokmin running a thumb along his lower lip, Minghao meeting his eyes as he takes it into his mouth. 

“Like my lăo gōng,” Seokmin rumbles, pulling his thumb away to smooth down Minghao’s changed shirt. 

Seokmin winks at him exaggeratedly, looping his arm through Minghao’s as they traipse downstairs. It looks like half their friends arrived at the same time, Chan bouncing a babbling Renjun while Jeonghan watches on fondly, Soonyoung playing peek-a-boo with Yiren over Mingyu’s shoulder, pulling faces and making her giggle shrilly. It’s easier to ignore how much Minghao wants Seokmin when he’s in a crowd, something about diluted magnetism. 

“Baba!” Yiren screams the moment she spots Minghao, reaching out for him from her perch in Mingyu’s arms. 

“It’s like I don’t exist to her,” Seokmin complains as Minghao swings Yiren into his arms, Seokmin kissing the top of her head, Yiren squealing and burying her face in Minghao’s neck.

“See?” Seokmin whines. “That’s your daughter now.” Minghao sticks his tongue out at him over Yiren’s head, Jihoon snorting. 

“At least my son loves me.” Seokmin plucks Renjun out of Chan’s arms, Renjun gurgling with happiness and Minghao watches Seokmin’s smile flare as bright as the rising sun, cooing at him.

“They were okay?” Minghao asks Mingyu, Mingyu nodding. Mingyu also gives him a very pointed once over he tries to ignore; Minghao’s ears burning anyway.

“Renjun burped all over Jihoon but that was the most exciting thing.”

“Yiren bumped her head,” Jihoon says dryly, Mingyu glancing nervously at a distracted Seokmin.

“Not over football again?” Minghao asks.

“Ball? With oppa?” Yiren perks up, looking at Mingyu. 

Mingyu blushes, hunching in on himself, Jihoon struggling to hide a grin.

“Not now, bǎobèi, but maybe after lunch.”

“Promise?” Yiren asks very seriously, Minghao nodding, which pleases Yiren before she asks to be let down and toddles over to Wonwoo in the crowd, attaching herself like a limpet to his leg. 

Some part of Minghao wants to fight every cosmic entity that made Yiren attached to Wonwoo and Mingyu, a slight reluctance to share his children rearing its head at times, mirror of the same possessiveness with Seokmin. The other part is happy he can rope Wonwoo into babysitting anytime. 

The doorbell goes off again, Minghao answering it to Seungcheol and Nayoung, Eunji beaming up at Minghao. 

“Happy anniversary oppa!” Eunji trills, pushing a glitter-covered card into Minghao’s hands.

“Thank you Eunji.” Minghao squats, Eunji hugging him tightly before disappearing into the house, no doubt to pry Renjun and Yiren from whoever they’re attached to as the band’s unofficial leader. 

“We cannot pull her away from glitter right now.” Seungcheol grimaces when Minghao stands up, pulling him into a tight hug, Nayoung swooping in after to kiss his cheek.

“I can tell,” Minghao giggles. Both their faces have speckles of glitter catching light.

“ _Seungcheol_ cannot pull her away from glitter and leaves me to deal with the mess,” Nayoung counters, Seungcheol shrugging guiltily.

“I have full faith in your abilities, noona.” Minghao steps aside to let them into the house properly, all of their guests accounted for. 

Junhui and Chan already have Eunji, Yiren and Renjun herded into the play area, keeping them occupied while Wonwoo watches on, Minghao snorting at the absolutely lovestruck expression on his face. He doesn’t even think Wonwoo is conscious of it. The rest of their friends are congregated around Mingyu and Jihoon, offering their congratulations to the newly engaged couple.

“Let me see the ring!” Seokmin crows, Mingyu holding his hand up shyly to the catcalls and wolf whistles of their friends.

Jihoon looks faintly embarrassed himself, shuffling his feet. 

“I’m sorry you’re marrying us too,” Minghao says. 

“Speak for yourself, I’m _excellent_ company,” Jeonghan sniffles, Nayoung laughing.

Jihoon shrugs, grinning. “I’m not complaining.”

Jihoon had joined their band of friends late but once he was part of them, it had felt like there was space for Jihoon all along.

“Jihoon got him a Cartier,” Seokmin stage whispers when Minghao makes his way next to him, thoughtlessly wrapping an arm around Seokmin’s waist.

“Do you want one?” Minghao presses, pulling Seokmin closer. “We can go down to the store tomorrow, pick out anything you want. Or right now, we _do_ live in Gangnam, I’m sure it’s open.”

Seokmin laughs, loud and bright, wriggling his left hand in Minghao’s face. “Unless you’re forgetting last night, I’m very happy with my ring. My husband, too.” 

Minghao smiles, bashful, catches Seokmin’s hand to press a kiss to the Piaget band. He remembers when Seokmin’s Instagram blew up after he’d posted a picture of his engagement ring, some tabloids going as far as tracking down the details of his proposal, down to the ring Minghao picked out for Seokmin. It had been a reality check of sorts, Minghao’s first taste of the spotlight marrying Seokmin would thrust him into. He’d still do it again and again, though, repeat ad infinitum. 

“We don’t pay attention to you two for two minutes and you’ll have your tongue down Minghao’s throat,” Jeonghan remarks dryly, stepping into the kitchen. 

Seokmin laughs good-naturedly, waggling his eyebrows, Minghao snorting at the way it twists his features.

Seokmin glances around, makes sure all three children are still with Junhui. “At least it’s not his dick.” 

“I’ve seen that too,” Jeonghan grimaces, Seokmin playfully hitting his shoulder. 

“You weren’t complaining when I had yours down my throat,” Seokmin mutters darkly.

Did Minghao fully consent to sleeping with Jeonghan and Seungcheol? Yes. Does he need the reminder, on his anniversary, no less? Not at all.

“Wine’s in the fridge, hyung,” Minghao gestures to the wine glasses on the counter and the punch bowl, which someone had taken the liberty of mixing while Seokmin and Minghao were upstairs. 

“I’ll stick to the punch, babe, but thanks.” 

Seokmin takes one look at Minghao’s face and laughs, busying himself with opening the bottle of red in the fridge and pouring Minghao a glass, holding it up to Minghao’s mouth. 

“Oh,” Minghao murmurs, letting Seokmin tip the glass back. 

It’s the way Seokmin watches him, partially delighted, partially mischievous, that has Minghao’s head spinning without being drunk. Finally, the light flips in Minghao’s head, Seokmin’s actions the entire day catching up with him, scowling as he plucks the glass out of Seokmin’s fingers. He feels _painfully_ slow with the realization that his husband _hasn’t_ missed Minghao’s newfound appreciation for his body. Seokmin grins, leaning in to kiss the corner of Minghao’s mouth before fluttering off to serve their friends food and usher them out onto the deck.

“What’s wrong?” Mingyu asks when he finds Minghao scowling into his wineglass. 

“I think I might die if Seokmin doesn’t fuck me today.”

Mingyu chokes on his mouthful of punch, Jihoon seemingly appearing out of nowhere to pat his back with a resigned sigh. Mingyu smiles at him, small and private, before serving him a glass of red and shooing Jihoon back outside with the promise of joining soon. 

“What’s he been doing?” Mingyu asks once Jihoon is no longer in the hearing vicinity. 

“Riling me up the whole morning with his stupid, stupid _arms,_ ” Minghao trails off into a noise of frustration. 

Mingyu makes a sympathetic noise but his smile is amused and Minghao wants to throw a dish towel at him. 

“They are nice, aren’t they? And I think you’ve just forgotten what it’s like to get laid,” Mingyu says, reaching out to pat Minghao’s arm reassuringly. “It’s been a busy season for him and you’re both masochistic enough to let the kids sleep in the same bed. Just _ask_ him, you know? Anyway, come join your anniversary lunch and stop sulking from blue balls.”

“I hate you so much,” Minghao mutters, serving himself more wine. 

Outside is a raucous wave of talk and laughter between the adults and children, their house more of a home than usual, built between him and Seokmin and years of love. Renjun is content on Wonwoo’s lap, Seokmin tugging Minghao down to sit next to him, passing him an already loaded plate of food, Yiren balanced in his lap as he alternates between feeding her and himself, Minghao’s heart going supernova in his chest. 

“You’re the best husband,” Minghao says, kissing Seokmin’s cheek, delighted at the way Seokmin flushes bright pink and drops a piece of meat. Even after 15 years, Seokmin is still full of multitudes for Minghao to puzzle out. 

“When I grow up can I marry Seokmin-oppa too?” Eunji proclaims loudly from further down the table. 

Everyone laughs, especially because Seungcheol looks like he’s seconds away from flinging himself into incoming traffic. 

“Eunji-ah, I don’t think Minghao-oppa will let you do that, but oppa will help you find a good husband,” Seokmin laughs.

“Okay,” Eunji sulks, pouting, cheering up when Soonyoung offers her a cupcake. 

“A toast,” Junhui proposes. “To Xu Minghao and Lee Seokmin, highschool sweethearts!” 

There’s a round of cheers and Minghao flushes, Seokmin warm and solid next to him. 

“To Xu Minghao,” Seokmin murmurs in his ear when no one is paying attention to them. “My perfect trophy househusband.” 

Minghao’s stomach swoops, flushing even darker even as he pinches the inside of Seokmin’s thigh.

Lunch stretches out in easy camaraderie, Junhui, Mingyu and Soonyoung playing football with Eunji, Yiren and Renjun at one point, Seokmin tucked up comfortably against Minghao’s side despite the sweltering heat. Eunji eventually gets corralled into a nap in their guest room, Seokmin and Minghao opting to tire their kids out instead. 

It’s Soonyoung who drunkenly suggests an arm-wrestling match once they move back inside, Nayoung, Jeonghan, Jihoon and Minghao excusing themselves from it. Minghao’s strong, sure, but he’s nowhere close to Mingyu’s levels of strength and he doesn’t fancy making a fool of himself. 

“I will battle for Minghao’s virtue,” Seokmin proclaims, Minghao snorting.

“I’m pretty sure you _stole_ that virtue,” Mingyu cackles. 

“On our wedding night, like any respectable man,” Seokmin counters.

Minghao downs his punch, ignoring the laughter of his friends and husband, wishing, for the first time in his life probably, that Mingyu had mixed this batch. There’s not enough alcohol in the drink right now for Minghao to deal with the embarrassment—there’s no basis of truth to what Seokmin’s saying, Seokmin had fucked him the winter before college—but the idea of it is heady. If they’d met as adults and not teenagers, Minghao might have waited until they were married to let Seokmin see him that vulnerable. As it stands, it’s rare for Minghao to _want_ to get fucked the way Seokmin is almost insatiable about it. Except for today; Minghao’s been restless with desire the whole day, to the point that he’d prioritized sucking dick over guests.

Chan is surprisingly strong, beating out Wonwoo and Soonyoung easily, losing to Junhui, who then loses to Seokmin. Everyone watches in interest when it’s Seokmin against Seungcheol; Seungcheol is still built like he was in college, even if he is softer in some places, but Seokmin, on the other hand, is stronger than he was in college, a fact Minghao is increasingly hyper aware of. He watches with a dry throat, gulping down more punch from his refilled cup when Seungcheol begins to visibly struggle against Seokmin. He holds out for another moment before Seokmin finally wrestles his hand down with a low thud, crowing in victory. 

“Ah,” Seungcheol sighs, rotating his wrist. It cracks audibly, Nayoung struggling to hide her smile. “I would’ve won if we were back in college.”

Seokmin giggles. “Hyung, it’s only because I’ve been on a training regimen for my next role. Seriously, full costume rehearsals is its own workout”

“You’re going to develop a mean backhand for all of Yiren’s future boyfriends,” Seungcheol says, laughing.

Minghao feels like someone has just dropped an entire building on his head, crumpling the plastic cup in his hands and spilling his drink over his shirt, watching it bloom. It’s one thing to be aware of how strong Seokmin is; he’s a one trip with the groceries guy, carries both Yiren and Renjun with ease guy. It’s another thing to think about the implications of Seokmin’s increasingly defined biceps or the way he’s been able to pin Minghao against any surface lately with his body weight alone. The way he’d rocked into Minghao’s mouth, the strength in his hands. Minghao swears under his breath, throwing his cup away and excusing himself to their bedroom to change, impulsively throwing on one of Seokmin’s shirts. Mingyu and Seokmin are in a stalemate when Minghao comes down, everyone watching on with fascination, Minghao taking up his seat again. _This_ definitely wouldn’t have happened in college, Mingyu and Seokmin with matching expressions of concentration.

It comes as a relief of sorts when Seokmin loses to Mingyu, Mingyu immediately grinning at an entertained and very sober Jihoon, who barely complains when Mingyu tries to squeeze onto his lap. Seokmin accepts the loss with grace, swinging Yiren into his arms and tickling her, Yiren’s giggles filling the air. 

“That’s my shirt,” Seokmin says, walking over to Minghao. 

Minghao shrugs. “You stole mine last night.”

“Borrowed,” Seokmin whines, settling in Minghao’s lap, Minghao praying to every god he knows that he doesn’t pop a boner from Seokmin’s weight in his lap. It’s unsuccessful; Seokmin shooting him an incredulous look, Minghao’s ears burning. 

“In front of our friends?” Seokmin murmurs in low Mandarin, soft enough that neither Junhui or Wonwoo can hear.

Minghao’s saved from the shame of responding by Renjun crowing a very loud _appa_ from Soonyoung’s arms, clearly displeased that he’s not part of the corner of the couch overtaken by Minghao, Seokmin and Yiren. Soonyoung deposits Renjun into Seokmin’s free arm with a grin, effectively preventing the tantrum Renjun was on the verge of.

“Hold on, lemme get a picture.” Soonyoung whips his phone out, Minghao hooking his chin over Seokmin’s shoulder. 

He hopes the camera doesn’t catch his hands, one tight around Seokmin’s hip, the other high on his inner thigh, but Jeonghan and Junhui are shooting him knowing looks, which means Minghao is not as subtle as he thinks he is. Minghao doesn’t quite know what got into him either, maybe it’s the way their anniversary hangs over him, a comforting warmth, a reminder of all the ways he can and _wants_ to give himself to Seokmin. 

“Down! Go Nonu,” Yiren suddenly demands, Seokmin laughing as he sets her down.

Wonwoo is pleasantly surprised, blushing as Yiren toddles over to him, holding his arms out for her. Next to him, Junhui is watching Wonwoo with an expression that Minghao is intimately familiar with, has seen the mirror of it in every picture their friends have ever taken of Seokmin and him. It’s fulfilling, Minghao thinks, that Junhui and Wonwoo are here, now, hearts fully handed over. 

“Baba,” Renjun says suddenly, head popping over Seokmin’s shoulder. 

Minghao grins at him. “What’s up, bǎo?” 

“Grape?” he asks, shoving his fist into the pocket of his jumpsuit. It’s only then Minghao realizes Renjun has somehow stuffed it with grapes, Seokmin moving off his lap and sitting properly next to Minghao so he doesn’t have to crane his neck to watch them; Minghao covertly placing a cushion on his lap. 

“How did he get the grapes in there?” Minghao marvels. Jihoon turns surprisingly pink, wriggling under Mingyu’s weight. 

“Baba,” Renjun whines. “Grape?” 

“Sure, bǎo.” Renjun all but shoves his fist into Minghao’s mouth to feed him, Minghao coughing as Seokmin cackles, chewing on the grape. 

“Feed appa too,” Minghao chokes out. Renjun nods, turning obediently to face Seokmin. 

Seokmin waggles his eyebrows at Minghao and Renjun does the same thing, Seokmin’s jaw practically unhinging to fit Renjun’s tiny fist in his mouth. He barely flinches, and Minghao rolls his eyes.

“Show off.” 

Renjun is fascinated by how wide Seokmin’s mouth is open, curiously shoving his hand back into Seokmin’s mouth, giggling when Seokmin pretends to bite down on it. Yiren watches on with curiosity from Wonwoo’s lap before turning to him.

“Nonu do too?” She asks earnestly. Wonwoo shakes his head resolutely and Yiren only has a moment to look vaguely disappointed before Junhui sighs and opens his mouth just as wide as Seokmin.

“Kids are cramping our style,” Jeonghan mourns. “There’s a joke to be made about these two and their mouths.”

Chan giggles. “Yes, and all any of them have to do is blink at you for you to drop everything.”

“It’s a punishable offense to say no to them,” Mingyu says gravely. 

How Mingyu is still coherent is beyond Minghao, considering he’s quickly becoming the human equivalent of putty in Jihoon’s lap. 

“Is he okay?” Minghao directs to Jihoon, frowning. Next to him, Renjun is trying to see how many grapes can fit in Seokmin’s mouth. 

“He,” Mingyu slurs. “Is just fine. You can just tell us to f—go home if you want to bone your husband you know, you don’t have to do the polite host thing.” 

Minghao flushes a bright red, throwing the cushion at Mingyu just about the same time as Jihoon pinches Mingyu’s thigh, Mingyu yelping while Junhui and Jeonghan cackle. Seokmin is blissfully quiet thanks to the number of grapes Renjun has fit into his mouth and really, Minghao’s son is his only friend and ally at this point. 

“Do you want us to leave?” Seungcheol asks good humouredly. Nayoung is sitting cross legged by his feet, Seungcheol’s hands working through braiding her hair confidently. “I can go grab Eunji from the guest room, it’s probably better for us to drive home while she’s asleep anyway.” 

“Boo, I can’t believe we’re ending early because you two are trying to—” The rest of Junhui’s sentence is muffled by Wonwoo’s hand clapping down on his mouth.

“ _Yiren_ ,” Wonwoo hisses, Junhui shrugging sheepishly. 

Seokmin’s finally finished chewing through his mouthful of grapes, easily handing Renjun off to Minghao so Minghao can experience terror at the hands of his almost two year old with a pocketful of grapes. 

“Minghao and I did want to watch the wedding tape with the kids, and there’s no way they’re gonna stay up for anything more than two hours.” 

Minghao doesn’t know what it says about him that he’s in his thirties and finds his husband’s ability to _be_ a husband and father sexy, but really, Seokmin slipped into the excuse so smoothly Minghao could weep and drop to his knees to suck Seokmin’s dick. 

Chan jumps to his feet. “Do you need help tidying up, hyung?”

“If you’re offering,” Seokmin grins. 

Minghao rustles a little, Renjun tugging on his earrings. To everyone’s surprise, including Jeonghan’s, _especially_ Jeonghan, actually, Chan seems to be the first person Jeonghan’s dated who stuck around since Seungcheol. It doesn’t mean Minghao is oblivious to the fact that Chan gets a _teensy_ bit starstruck around Seokmin, especially when Seokmin turns the force of his smile on Chan which is _understandable_ —Minghao is _married_ to Seokmin and isn’t immune—but today, it has Minghao on edge more than it usually would. Not enough for Minghao to curl around Seokmin possessively, but _close._

Seokmin putting food away triggers their sober friends to start helping with cleanup, a neat system that college never prepared Minghao for. Together, they get done faster than they would have had it just been Minghao and Seokmin _and_ there’s people to hand leftovers that would otherwise go bad in their fridge; Seokmin goes especially heavy handed on packing leftovers for Chan and Soonyoung. Their guests dwindle one by one until Junhui and Wonwoo are the only ones left, always the first and last at their gatherings, Yiren clinging onto Wonwoo’s leg and wailing while Seokmin tries to coax her away. Renjun looks back and forth between Seokmin and Yiren like he’s confused and Minghao heads upstairs before Renjun has the chance to start a tantrum as well, kissing Junhui’s cheek goodbye. 

By the time Seokmin comes upstairs with a cranky Yiren and two bottles of milk, Renjun is showered and in pyjamas, slowly being coaxed to sleep by Minghao reading to him in the rocking chair. Seokmin silently hands him a bottle, sticking the other in the warmer before guiding Yiren through her routine. Renjun falls asleep quickly, Minghao tucking him in. Yiren is still awake in Seokmin’s arms, freshly changed.

Minghao’s heart melts a little at the sight, head going a little floaty. It sneaks up on him every time, the fact that this is his life, this is his husband, this is his husband with their kids. It has Minghao plastering himself to Seokmin’s back, swaying with him as he tries to coax Yiren to sleep.

Seokmin inhales sharply—Minghao can feel how tight his muscles go under his hands—Minghao subtly grinding his hips against Seokmin’s thigh, half-hard all day from the idea of Seokmin fucking him tonight. This is a lesson in translating the language of the body.

“I’ll wait for you,” Minghao murmurs, kissing the nape of Seokmin’s neck. 

There’s no point showering if he’s going to get fucked after, Minghao decides, mulling over how exactly he wants Seokmin to find him; the wine has had him in a pleasant haze of satiated and horny for the past three hours anyway. Realizes there’s nothing better than putting on a show for Seokmin to match the one he put on for Minghao last night, stripping off everything but Seokmin’s shirt in front of their floor length mirror and grabbing lube from the bathroom, wetting his fingers, teasing himself in front of it. It _has_ been a while, Minghao realizes, as he traces wet fingers around the soft pucker of his skin, sinking one in slowly. It’s strange in the way not having fingered himself in a while is, but not bad, especially when he knows what’s coming after. 

It’s the thought of Seokmin that pushes him to press himself against the mirror, fucking his finger in and out of himself gently. Seokmin in his rumpled button up, Seokmin and the flex of his arms pinning Minghao down, Seokmin and the rumble of his voice when he’d called Minghao a whore, Minghao adding another finger and scissoring them, eyes fluttering shut with a groan. 

“Minghao?” Seokmin calls softly. 

“In here,” Minghao pants out, cheek flush against the mirror.

“ _Lăo gōng,_ ” Seokmin says, reverent. “You started without me.”

“You said you’d fuck me tonight,” Minghao huffs out, almost petulant.

“I did, didn’t I?” Seokmin chuckles, radioactively hot against Minghao’s back, fingers cool as he brushes Minghao’s hair away from the collar of his shirt, unhurriedly kissing the nape of his neck. He pulls Minghao’s hand away, Minghao biting his lip at the wet sound it makes, aching from the emptiness. 

Minghao can feel Seokmin’s smile against the nape of his neck, the curve of his mouth, the weight of his teeth, _wants_ Seokmin to bite down on his skin, gasps when Seokmin _does_ bite down. 

“Jagiya,” Seokmin murmurs, kissing the shell of his ear. “Watch yourself.”

Minghao feels like molten gold in Seokmin’s arms, barreled over by how much he _wants_ his husband to hold him down and fuck him when he meets Seokmin’s eyes in their reflection. Seokmin’s shoulders are broad, his arms are filled out where they curve around Minghao’s lean frame, the few centimeters Seokmin has on him feeling like a whole foot.

Seokmin nuzzles Minghao’s neck, still soft, still tender, touch gentle on Minghao’s jaw as he turns him, mouths meeting in a kiss that’s soft, searching. Minghao feels urgency lodged in his chest, sharp like a knife, an urgency that Seokmin doesn’t mirror as he licks into Minghao’s mouth. 

“You’re the sweetest when you’re like this for me, lăo gōng,” Seokmin savors the sound of the syllables rolling off his tongue with the same reverential weight he places in Minghao’s name every day. 

Minghao shudders, squeezing his eyes shut. Seokmin doesn’t ask him to watch himself as much as he manhandles Minghao into it, turning him to face the mirror again and holding him firm by the jaw. Seokmin pushes his fingers past Minghao’s mouth, eyes black with hunger, Minghao getting them wet.

His eyes flutter shut, drooling around Seokmin’s fingers, gasping when Seokmin pulls them away and pushes one into Minghao, Minghao’s forehead thudding onto the glass. 

“You okay, jagiya?” Seokmin asks, concerned, pulling his finger out and Minghao groans, reaching behind to grab his wrist.

“Fine, I’m fine,” Minghao pants out. “More, xīngān.” 

Seokmin kisses the back of his neck in response, fucking Minghao with a second one, adding lube as he goes. Every noise makes the back of Minghao’s neck _burn_ , Seokmin’s fingers thick and insistent stretching him out, intentionally brushing against his prostate and what control Minghao _does_ have over himself is being dissolved fast. It’s been so long since Minghao was fucked and he can’t remember _why_ but now that he has Seokmin’s fingers in him, it’s all Minghao wants, all the time. Seokmin adds a third finger and that’s when Minghao’s knees buckle, Seokmin huffing in surprise as he catches Minghao around the waist. 

“We’re moving to the bed,” Seokmin laughs, pulling his fingers out with a slick noise, easily hoisting Minghao into a bridal carry. It’s like his dick gets harder at the ease of which Seokmin lifts him. 

“This is humiliating,” Minghao murmurs. He’s flushed down to his chest, bouncing on the bed when Seokmin drops him down unceremoniously, stripping hastily before settling astride Minghao’s thighs.

Minghao’s dick gives an interested twitch in the proceedings, Seokmin raising an eyebrow even as he grinds down languidly against Minghao, eyes hazy, fingers working on the buttons of Minghao’s shirt. 

“Xīngān,” Minghao croaks out when he’s free of his shirt. “You can ride me later but I _really_ want to get fucked tonight.” 

Seokmin stills on top of him, pupils blown wide, his hair messy. Minghao reaches out, warm palm against the hot skin of Seokmin’s bicep, trails over his deltoid, throat dry thinking about the strength he feels coiled under his skin. Minghao swallows his pride, bites down on his lip. 

“Please, lăo gōng, will you fuck me? Your lǎo pó wants you to,” Minghao murmurs in Mandarin, pulling Seokmin close, close enough that Seokmin’s shivery exhale is warm on his face.

Seokmin reacts like a gun set off, frantic scramble to gather Minghao’s arms above his head, wrists pressed together, nipping along Minghao’s jaw. 

“Is this okay?” Seokmin asks, Minghao nodding frantically. 

Seokmin kisses his way down Minghao’s body, mapping out a familiar constellation: nose, mouth, Adam’s apple, sternum, belly button, the head of Minghao’s cock. Licks broad stripes against it before taking it into his mouth, eyes fixed on Minghao and Minghao _knows_ he can move his hands but it feels so good to give himself up to Seokmin like this. Symbolic, almost. Minghao’s back arches as Seokmin takes him deeper, throat tight around his cock, gasping when Seokmin pulls off Minghao’s cock to lick at Minghao’s hole instead, Minghao’s self-control snapping as he reaches down to thread his fingers through Seokmin’s hair. 

“Hi,” Seokmin pants out, pulling away with a grin. His fingers are persistent against Minghao’s rim, slipping three into him easily and fucking Minghao, Minghao groaning with it, rolling his hips. 

“I’m going to divorce you, my dick has been _hard since I woke up_ , Lee Seokmin.” 

Seokmin laughs, shuffling up to kiss Minghao, enough of a distraction that Minghao gasps when Seokmin pushes into him, one hand tight around Minghao’s waist and the other firm against his thigh. Minghao gets harder, if possible, from the way Seokmin holds him down, keeps him from rocking back against Seokmin’s cock, the stretch of it mind blowing after ages. Seokmin pulls out and fucks back in with a smooth roll of his hips, panting against Minghao’s mouth. 

For all the ways that Seokmin is loud when Minghao fucks him, they’re almost quiet when it’s the other way around. Maybe it’s because Minghao speaks with his body, arched into Seokmin’s, as if it’s not enough to be caught between Seokmin and the mattress, as if he wants to be taken into Seokmin’s bones. Or the way he moves Seokmin’s hand from his waist to his throat, spreading his hand across Seokmin’s, urging him to tighten his grip, leave a bruise, every mark as heavy a claim as their jewelry, tell the world watching that Minghao is Seokmin’s as much as Seokmin is Minghao’s.

“Xīngān,” Minghao gasps brokenly when Seokmin picks up the pace, moving his mouth absently along Minghao’s skin.

There’s an intensity in Seokmin’s eyes that Minghao rarely sees, an unspoken promise. Minghao knows he’s going to wake up with bruises and part of him is thrilled; they have _time_ for this. Minghao’s missed it, missed Seokmin hot and thick in him, the way Seokmin shifts into a single minded desire to give it to Minghao so good his thoughts go fuzzy. 

“You look so pretty,” Seokmin murmurs, moving the hand from Minghao’s throat to wrap around his cock. “I love that I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, have you like this.” 

Minghao has to squeeze his eyes shut, alight with desire, Seokmin’s voice as electrifying as his hand around Minghao’s cock. Part of Minghao wishes that he was getting fucked against the mirror but there’s the other part that’s content, sated, _luxuriating_ in being fucked like this, Seokmin bearing down _on_ him, around him. 

“Hold on,” Seokmin murmurs, pulling out to rearrange Minghao’s body, Minghao biting a smile into the inside of his arm when Seokmin has him face down, ass up. 

Seokmin teases the head of his cock against Minghao’s rim, Minghao biting down on his lower lip so hard iron bursts across his tongue. He keeps teasing Minghao like that, dragging his slick cock along Minghao’s skin, Minghao trying to press back every time the head of it teases against his hole but held back by Seokmin’s grip on his waist. 

“Xīngān,” Minghao murmurs, open, broken, babbles in Mandarin. “Want you so bad. Want you to take me. Want to give myself to you.” 

It’s painfully honest. 

“Love seeing you be a whore for me, jagiya,” Seokmin says, leaning in to kiss Minghao’s spine, hands still tight around Minghao’s waist. Minghao feels like he’s been electrocuted, wanting supercharged, groaning when Seokmin finally pushes in, so much deeper at this angle, languidly.

“Are you thinking about how I fucked you on our wedding night?” Seokmin asks, threading his hand through Minghao’s hair and tugging gently. 

“Yes,” Minghao gasps out, Seokmin’s cock insistent against his prostate. 

Seokmin hums. “We should go back to Santorini, ask for the same room. I can fuck you against the wall this time, or make you suck my dick on the balcony where everyone can see.”

Seokmin’s every word is punctuated by a deep thrust into Minghao, Minghao’s groans muffled. It’s infuriating how in control Seokmin is when it’s Minghao getting railed, filling up the space that would usually be filled with Seokmin’s noises with his voice instead. It lulls Minghao into desperation every time, the need to make everything good for Seokmin all the time taking over, dipping his spine lower, panting a little harsher. 

“You like how strong I am now, don’t you?” Seokmin asks, fucking into Minghao harder.

Minghao groans out an assent which turns into an embarrassing moan of Seokmin’s name when he threads his fingers through Minghao’s hair and tugs harder, pulling Minghao up against him. 

It’s nice that Minghao gets to tip his head back against Seokmin’s strong, broad shoulder but it’s horrible because he has no leverage, is forced to take every punishing thrust of Seokmin’s hips, every mark Seokmin sucks into his neck. In the moment of a man truly unhinged, Minghao reaches around to grab Seokmin’s forearm, wrapping his other hand around himself. Minghao can feel the flex of Seokmin’s muscles under his palms, jacking himself off steadily, Seokmin fucking up into him gracelessly. He’s close too, Minghao knows this with certainty.

Minghao comes first all over his hand and Seokmin bites down on the junction of Minghao’s shoulder, pushing him back onto his chest, groaning as he grinds into the tight heat of Minghao’s ass. Seokmin’s grip on Minghao’s waist goes tight when he comes, rolling his hips languidly and overstimulating Minghao. Seokmin makes a move to pull out and Minghao whines.

“Stay for a while,” he asks, Seokmin’s shivery exhale warm against the nape of Minghao’s nap as he negotiates them onto their sides.

“Something you wanna tell me, jagiya?” Seokmin teases. 

Minghao’s face is hot enough to fry an egg, breath catching every time Seokmin shifts in him despite his softening cock. 

“Just miss you fucking me,” Minghao admits. 

Seokmin nuzzles into his neck. “I’ll remember to do it more often then.”

Minghao laughs, lulled into comfort by Seokmin’s humming even if it’s too humid for them to be pressed together the way they are. It’s heady, feels like a return to the life they had ten years ago as young adults. It’s strange too, that despite the changes, there are also the constants. This: love an unfaltering rain, collected between their cupped palms and flooding the space. Minghao grimaces when Seokmin finally pulls out, come making a mess of his thighs, rolling over onto his back to watch Seokmin between his legs.

“Seriously?” Seokmin snorts, grinning. “I come in you _once_ and you make that face?” 

“It’s _messy_ ,” Minghao deadpans.

Seokmin drags a hand along the insides of Minghao’s thigh, spreading his come even more, dark eyes meeting Minghao’s when he sucks come off his fingers. 

“I can eat you out,” Seokmin says quietly. 

His fingers are soft on the insides of Minghao’s thighs, digging into the muscle, Minghao stretching into the feeling. He considers it, really, but his limbs feel like they might fall off if he has a fourth orgasm within 36 hours, especially because he’s been drinking. 

“It’s fine,” Minghao sighs out. 

“You sure?” Seokmin pouts, lying over Minghao’s body, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth. Seokmin tastes like Minghao, and that pleases him more than anything else. “I can make it worth your time.”

Minghao laughs, hitting Seokmin’s shoulder and tugging him in for another kiss. 

“I might die if I come again so soon.” 

“Guess we’ll need the Viagra sooner than I thought.” 

Seokmin pulls away, reaching to the bed stand to grab wet wipes, Minghao watching the stretch of his muscles, cleaning Minghao perfunctorily. It’s a miracle the baby monitor did not go off, now that Minghao thinks about it.

“If you hop in the shower, I can change the sheets,” Seokmin offers. 

Minghao hums, manhandling Seokmin into being the little spoon, nose pressed to the nape of his neck, Seokmin huffing in laughter. “There’s a wet spot jagiya, and we’re going to regret this when the kids wake up in the middle of the night.”

“Just a while,” Minghao grumbles. “You can also call me a whore more often. If you would like,” Minghao adds quitely. Seokmin settles, body still shaking with laughter. 

“Let me pencil that into my calendar, you can come watch me at the gym tomorrow and I’ll call you a whore after,” Seokmin teases.

Minghao shoves him ineffectively, trying to force him into the wet spot.

“I’m divorcing you,” Minghao threatens, voice absent of heat, curling tighter around Seokmin. 

Seokmin snorts. “I don’t think there’s a universe where we’re not in love.”

Something in Minghao hitches, expands, overtakes his veins at the certainty in Seokmin’s voice. It’s warm and dizzying and Minghao’s bones feel like they might crack from the force of it. 

“You’re ridiculous.” He smiles against the nape of Seokmin’s neck despite it, intertwines their fingers and brings them up so they rest over Seokmin’s heart, pulling them even tighter together.

If they’re woken up in the middle of the night because the baby monitor goes off and engage in the frantic scramble of getting dressed, getting the kids pacified and changing the sheets so the four of them can sleep together, it’s worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been in the works since February T_T. i'm so happy it's finally done, please leave a comment if you enjoyed it! you can find me on twt @[suninspIendour](https://twitter.com/suninspIendour) & on curiouscat [@lilting](https://curiouscat.me/lilting) where i talk about all the fic i'm writing and finish none of it. this fic wouldn't be possible without len and i highly encourage reading light blue & gentle. and to leesa and em, thank you for NOT letting me toss this into the trashcan. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm going to try my best to have the second chapter of the fic up by the weekend, or at the latest, the end of the month x_x. if you enjoyed it, please leave a comment! there'll be additional tags with the second chapter, and a lot more domestic fun <3


End file.
